


2. Five Times John Tried to Relieve Some Tension & One Time Sherlock Did It For Him.

by WhatLocked



Series: 50 Reasons [2]
Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: 5+1, Attempted Masturbation, Frustration, Hand Jobs, M/M, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-19
Updated: 2016-01-19
Packaged: 2018-05-14 22:01:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5760496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhatLocked/pseuds/WhatLocked
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock doesn’t do sex while on a case, and that would be fine, so long as John could get in some ‘alone’ time every now and then.</p><p>Part of my 50 Reasons For John & Sherlock To Have Sex, as suggested by you, the reader!</p>
            </blockquote>





	2. Five Times John Tried to Relieve Some Tension & One Time Sherlock Did It For Him.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [PinkOrchid](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PinkOrchid/gifts).



> Firstly, thank you all for reading this series and thank you to those of you who offered suggestions. 
> 
> This weeks prompt comes from PinkOrchid who suggested -  
> “Sherlock interrupting any time John, in the absence of regular dates, gets to grips with himself. No alone time for the doctor equals a lot of frustration to be resolved... maybe a 5 plus 1?”

~~~~~~~~~~

+1 - Attempt Number One

Sherlock didn’t do sex while working, at least not the tricky cases, and that was fine with John.  It was really all fine, but since they started going out three weeks ago they had been having sex on a daily basis, sometimes more, and now it had suddenly been cut off.  Just one text from Greg, twenty minutes at a crime scene and both of their libidos had been pushed away in favour of the chase.  Again, that was fine with John…three days ago, but now, here he was, just over 72 hours of having no form of sex whatsoever after having it constantly for 21 days, in bed, alone and with a rather uncomfortable erection that clearly was not going to go away on its own.

With a slow inhale through the nose and a slow exhale through the mouth John thought, ‘ _Well, nothing for it_ ’ and slid his hand under the covers and into the warm confines of his pyjama pants.

John tried to wrack his brains for the dream that had left him so hard but it had become lost in the fog that was between sleeping and waking. Pity.  He was sure it would have made for perfect wanking material.  Instead he brought up another image that made for perfect wanking material. Sherlock, on his knees three nights ago, with John’s cock in his mouth.  A heavy groan was pulled from John’s throat as his hand started working over his shaft in small but firm strokes.  His back arched up as the pressure behind his navel grew more intense and his hand started moving quicker.  He was almost there, not long to go just a bit more…..

“John.  We have to leave now” Sherlock bellowed from the hallway, giving John approximately three seconds to get his hands out of his pants before the door was thrown open and Sherlock stalked into the room, tugging at his pyjamas in order to get dressed five minutes ago.

“Why are you still in bed” Sherlock grumbled, dropping his pyjama pants to the ground. A barely audible sigh of frustration left Johns lips as Sherlock whipped across the room, naked, in a hurry to find clothes.

“Up, John.  There is a murderer on the loose and I think I may have found out where he will be, now, so if you could find it in yourself to actually get _out of bed_.  We need to go…now.”

“So you said” John grumbled and sat up with the purpose of getting dressed to go follow whatever lead Sherlock had, all thoughts of erections and orgasms pushed aside for anther time.

 

+2 - The Second Almost Coming

John placed his hands on the green tiles in front of him and let his head hang down as the water pounded over the back of his neck, washing away the aches, the stiffness and the pungent odour of day old, spoiled sea life.

Sherlock Holmes was clever, resourceful, intelligent and a right fucking idiot.  

‘ _I know exactly what I am doing, John_ ” he had said.  ‘ _Everything will be fine, if you just stand right there and don’t move_ ” he had said.

John was apparently a bigger fucking idiot because he had blindly followed Sherlocks instructions, no questions asked, which is why he had had what felt like a ton of fish guts dumped on top of him.  What had made it worse was having to call Greg for a lift home because no taxi would pick them up.

Now, two and a half bottles of Sherlocks fancy body wash and shampoo later, John could no longer detect even a hint of fish guts.  But he could smell Sherlock and it was having a some-what expected effect on him.

John breathed in deeply through his nose, taking in as much as the smell as he possibly could.  He had been interrupted yesterday, before he could fix the arousal he had woken up with and then they had spent until early hours this morning tracing clues.  By the time they had got home John was exhausted and had just gone straight to bed and then this morning he had been woken up by a rather excited Sherlock who had believed that he had found another promising clue that had then led them down to a wharf waste depot in the Canary Wharf district, which is also why John was now standing in the shower relishing in the scent that was almost identical to a freshly showered Sherlock.

Without even thinking about it, Johns hand left the wall and went directly to his cock, which was showing more and more interest with every inhale.  He trailed his fingers lightly up and down the shaft, wanting to take his time and really enjoy himself.  Giving his balls a quick squeeze he circled his fist, loosely, around the base of his cock.  Breathing in the smell of Sherlocks body wash once more John slowly brought his hand up the length of his cock, in time with his breath, and then let it travel back down to the base as he slowly exhaled, the scent that was so much like Sherlock making the whole experience just that much better.  He repeated this action a few times, travelling up on the inhale, back down on the exhale, his grip tightening, just a fraction after every second or third stroke.

On the next upstroke, John ran his forefinger around his corona before swiping his thumb over his glans, before sliding his hand back down his length again.  

He continued stroking in times with his breath, both his hands and lungs working faster than when he had begun, his grip tightening a bit more.  As his movements became faster, he bit his lip to stop the groan from escaping, not wanting Sherlock to know what he was doing in the shower.  Oh! Who was he kidding, Sherlock, if he hadn’t already, would figure it out the second he took one look at John.

With that thought John let his head hang back, the spray of the shower muffling the moan that pushed through his lips as he fingered the head of his cock again, before sliding back down.  He was just working his second hand down to pay some attention to his bollocks when the bathroom door burst open and a very calm but firm “John” sounded.

John knew that tone.  That tone was Sherlock trying to sound calm when he should be screaming PANIC PANIC PANIC.

Throbbing erection forgotten John quickly stuck his head out past the shower curtain.  There was Sherlock, standing stock still with his hands in front of him and his eyes closed, the skin around them looking horribly agitated.

“I seem to have managed to get Ammonium Thiosulfate in my eyes.  It is actually quite painful.”  The fact that Sherlock sounded so serenely calm was a big red waving flag and cursing at whatever idiotic thing Sherlock had been doing (and John didn’t have to know what it was to know it was idiotic) in order to get Ammonium Thiosulfate in his eyes, he shut the water off and stepped out of the tub in order to deal with the ridiculous man in front of him.

 

+3 - Third Time Unlucky

There was nothing happening with the case, other than Sherlock staring at the evidence wall and yelling about whatever incompetent moron had written up the case notes so John had phoned Sarah to see if she needed anyone in to take on extra patients, keeping in mind that he could get called away at any minute.  She could not have been more grateful as there had been an influx of people with the latest gastrointestinal bug going around, coupled up with an overload of flu patients.

That had been four hours ago.  Now they seemed rather quiet and John sat in his office, filling out paperwork waiting for a new patient to arrive so he could do his doctorly thing and tell them to go home, keep up the fluids, get lots of rest and if it gets worse go to A&E.  Six years at medical school to tell people what was essentially common sense!

John completed the medical supply acquisition form and dropped his pen on the desk with a huffed exhale.  God he was bored.  He should have just stayed home.  At least there he would have Sherlock to keep him entertained with his yelling at inanimate objects, talking to people who weren’t there and disrupting John whenever he had found something interesting to do like reading or doing the cross word, or trying to rub one out.  John groaned.  Twice he had tried and twice he had been interrupted, by Sherlock.  (At least the fools eyes had only been red and puffy for three hours after the Ammonium Thiosulfate incident.)

John thought back to his two recent masturbatory blunders.  It was another reason why he had had to get out of the flat.  Sherlock, flouncing around in threadbare pyjama pants, clearly nothing on under them, and one of John’s t-shirts, which was too short, long fingers running through his curls wile he bit on his bottom lip….

Aw, fuck.  John was hard again.  He hung his head and tried to think of the different medical maladies he had witnessed today.  Lots of mucus and snot, three stool samples a boil, foot fungus…nothing was working.  It wasn’t turning him on, but it most certainly wasn’t getting rid of the erection that had made a home in his pants.

John looked to the clock.  It had been thirty minutes since his last patient.  Maybe if he was lucky there wouldn’t be one for another ten minutes, because - face it - it certainly wasn’t going to take any longer than that.  

John let out a shaky breath.  Could he do it?  Here, at work?  It wasn’t something he had ever had to contemplate before.  Ever.  And he really shouldn’t.  Jus then his cock gave a small twitch and John inhaled sharply through his nose at the sensation of the fabric of his pants rubbing against his prick.  It wasn’t going to go away on its own and the last thing he needed was to actually have to see a patient with a boner, so with that sorted John pressed his hand against his cotton covered cock and rubbed, just gently.  Using his free hand he covered his mouth to muffle the moan that vibrated out between his lips.  No, this was not going to take long at all.  Applying the pressure he gave his cock a few more rubs before deciding that he needed to undo his trousers before he came in his pants.  

Just as he was about to reach for the zip the phone on his desk beeped with an internal call.

“Rachel” he greeted, managing to keep his voice sounding calm and even.

“Doctor Watson.  There is a Sherlock Holmes here to see you” the receptionist informed him, sounding slightly out of sorts.

A resigned sigh left Johns mouth as he moved his hand lessening the pressure against the bulge in his pants.  

“Of course there is” he muttered, and then more professionally, “Send him through.”

Less than thirty seconds later Sherlock was striding through the door to Johns office and John was grateful that there was a desk between them as his erection hadn’t completely wilted away.

“You left” Sherlock stated, somewhat petulantly as he slouched into the chair usually reserved for patients.

“I told you I was going to work” John explained.  “And I left you a note.”

“What, that little green thing you tacked to the evidence bored.”  Sherlock would never admit it but he had spent a good two minutes trying to figure out what that clue: ‘G _one to Work!_ ’,  had meant and when exactly it had made it’s way in with the rest of the evidence.  It was only when he had called out to John and John hadn’t answered that he had realised he was in fact looking at John’s handwriting.

“I figured you wouldn't have actually listened when I verbally told you, so yes, that little green thing I stuck to the evidence board.”

John watched the annoyed frown take over Sherlocks brow before standing up again.  “Not the point of my visit.  I need your assistance.”

John almost laughed at needing assistance.  He was pretty sure it wasn’t the kind that John was wanting.  Instead he just sent a look that told Sherlock to continue.

“A bit of break and entering.  I think this case is close to an end.”  

John could only hope that he was correct because the post case sex was going to be hard, fast, passionate and a fucking welcome relief.

 

+4 - Going Fourth Is Not An Option

John sighed.  This is what it had come down to.  Him, seriously contemplating rubbing one out in the toilets of New Scotland Yard.  They had been there for over eighteen hours, combing through every piece of evidence they could find relating to this case and Sherlock had spent most of that time bent over the fucking evidence table scanning photos and documents, his hips occasionally absent-mindedly swaying from left to right, just slightly, as his body sub-consciously tried to tell him that he had been holding the same position for too long.

A week.  They had been at this case for a week and didn’t seem any closer to solving it.  Greg was frustrated because the body count had gone up to four, as of the early hours this morning and he had the chief breathing down his neck; Sherlock was frustrated because he was convinced it was something he was overlooking and not that the killer was just too clever to be caught; Sally and Anderson were frustrated because, well, John wasn’t actually sure since Sherlock only yelled at them if they spoke to him and John was frustrated because Sherlock was frustrated and because all week he had been trying to have a wank and every attempt had been thwarted by the very same man that had made the _want, need, desire_ to have said wank so strong in the first place.

So, yes, here he was, after spending the past hour trying not to watch Sherlocks arse sway back and forth, no sleep in over 24 hours and half hard, seriously wanting to just get it over and done with.  

He couldn’t care less that it wasn’t the ideal location, or that he would be more comfortable in his own home.  He didn’t care that it would have to be very quiet or that it would have to be very quick.  The way he was feeling right now it wouldn’t be able to be anything but quick anyway.  He just wanted to get rid of the tension that had been building in his lower abdomen since he woke up four days ago with a very similar erection.  He wanted to be able to look at Sherlock without his touch-starved cock acting like it belonged to a sixteen year old.  He just want to fucking come.

With that resolve he checked the cubicles to make sure they were all empty and locked himself in the end one.  Unzipping his fly, John pushed his jeans and pants down just far enough and a sigh of relief escaped his mouth as his half-hard cock sprang free.

He took himself in hand and stroked his hand up and down, just once, and that was enough to get him fully hard, then, adding spit to his palm he began to stroke his cock with more purpose just quick up and down motions, ignoring the usual twist of hand or attention to the head.  There wasn’t time for that.  He wanted this finished before he was interrupted.  Again.

His hand started moving faster, his grip getting tighter when suddenly the door to the mens room burst open, slamming against the wall before slowly falling shut again.

John knew exactly who it was before the excited, deep baritone of Sherlock called “John, another body, come on.”

John bit his lip to stop the groan of sheer frustration from escaping and slowed his breathing down.

“John!”  Sherlock was sounding annoyed now, indicating that John should probably answer.

“Alright, alright” he said, not needing to act in order to sound really ticked off.  “Just give me a few seconds.”  John flinched as he tried to tuck himself back in.  He had deflated somewhat, but not completely.

“Well, hurry up” Sherlock snapped.  “Otherwise Anderson is going to get there before us and ruin anything useful.”

John could have kissed the man then because the thought of Anderson, while he was mid-wank, was a surefire way to put him off completely.

Flushing the toilet John made sure he was completely respectable and made his way out of the cubical just in time to see Sherlock walking back out through the door.  Quickly washing his hands he also exited the room, following Sherlock to the next crime scene.

 

+5 - The Frustrating Case of the Failed Number Five

John wanted to cry.  It just really wasn’t fair.  The case had finally, finally wrapped up just over three hours ago, the perpetrator was in police custody and the police had enough damning evidence against the man to make sure he never lived another day outside of prison.  Just over seven days of their life dedicated to hunting the bastard down and in that time Sherlock had probably dozed for only about a total of twelve hours of it in spits and spats, which is more than likely why the Consulting Detective had fallen asleep in the taxi on the way home.

John had managed to get the man upstairs, strip him down to his underwear and manoeuvre him under the blankets, all the while Sherlock only had one eye cracked open and a handful of unintelligible words slurred out of his mouth.  There was a strong possibility that he would not remember how he got back from the Yard in the morning.

Once John had locked the flat up, brushed his teeth and changed into his pyjamas he climbed into bed, next to Sherlock and switched out the light with every intention of going to sleep himself. 

After ten minutes of staring up at the ceiling and listening to the heavy, but steady breathing of Sherlock, John realised that sleep was not on his immediate agenda.  This may have had something to do with the fact that he had managed four to five hours of sleep most nights throughout the case and had lived on more than tea, biscuits and half a slice of pizza this past week, therefore his adrenaline hadn’t petered out as quickly as Sherlocks had.

He thought about getting up and reading or watching telly for an hour but it was warm in bed and despite not being able to sleep, he was tired and didn’t really feel like moving so he stayed where he was listening to the late night sounds of Baker Street and grinning every time a random word or sentence tumbled sleepily out Sherlock’s mouth.

John was just starting to doze off when Sherlock rolled over from his back to his side, his arm pushing onto Johns stomach, just under his bellybutton, with a muffled “It’s too warm for Jupiter, John.”  John ignored where Sherlocks hand was and tried to go back to sleep but Sherlock shuffle closer to John, his hand brushing down to John’s thigh, and started snoring softly.

A small groan left Johns mouth as he felt his penis twitch.  Not now.  He was tired and just wanted to go to sleep, but the placement of Sherlocks hand and the steady stream of warm breath ghosting over his neck and just the smell of Sherlock were giving his body other ideas and before long he was half hard in his pyjama bottoms.

‘ _At least he won’t disrupt me this time_ ’ John thought to himself resignedly and placed his palm over his hardening prick and gently started to massage it until it was completely hard.  Not surprisingly, this did not take long.

A whispered moan left his mouth as he slipped his hand under the waistband of his pants and his fingers squeezed and rolled the head, smearing the first drop of pre-come.  He wrapped his hand around the shaft and just held, contemplating on whether to proceed right there, or move to the bathroom.  He was very tempted to just continue, right where he was, but in the end decided that he felt a bit creepy rubbing one out in bed while his partner was fast asleep next to him so, reluctantly, he pulled his hand out of his pants and went to move Sherlocks hand off of his thigh.

This, as it turned out, was not the best move to make for as soon as John lightly gripped Sherlocks wrist the younger man let out a small chuckle in his sleep and rolled over further so he was _on top_ of John, nuzzling his face into the crook between Johns neck and shoulder.

“Sherlock” John whispered loudly, gently pushing on the other mans shoulders.  The only response he got was a rather content sigh.

“Sherlock” John tried again, but there was no response at all this time.  John let out a small sigh of frustration and it was about here that he decide that it just really wasn’t fair.  John had been here before.  Short of seriously shoving Sherlock off of him, with enough force to topple him onto the floor, there was no moving the man.  Once Sherlock settled for the night he was practically unmovable.  John could only assume that the lack of almost all sleep for a week would only make the situation even more impossible.

Letting out another sigh, John stared at the ceiling and listened to the traffic below on Baker Street and the odd mumblings of the man draped across his body.  It wasn’t easy, but he did manage to eventually ignore his erection and after another forty-five minutes drifted off into his own sleep.

 

-1 - Round One

A small, satisfied sigh brushed past Johns lips and he could feel himself smiling.  He was having a good dream.  A bloody fantastic dream, actually.  His back arched, just a bit, as pleasure bubbled up through his body as the pressure against his cock increased.  A small moan left his mouth at how good it felt.

Slowly, he opened his eyes as his fingers slid into silky curls and he realised two things.

  1. This wasn’t actually a dream.  It was really happening; and
  2. Sherlock was rubbing his nose up against the hard length that was Johns rather erect penis.



“Good morning” the man below him purred and then proceeded to run a line of small, open mouth kisses down the length of his cock.

John smiled a sleepy smile.  It was a good morning indeed. John gasped as Sherlocks lips closed around his balls, one at a time, sucking gently, his tongue working back and forth over them.

“God, your mouth feels so good” John sighed as he melted into the mattress, his hands continuing to card through Sherlocks hair, occasionally giving a sharp tug as Sherlocks mouth continued to work blissful magic on, over, under, around Johns cock.

After a particular sharp tug on his hair Sherlock stopped laying licks and kisses and small bites to Johns erection and instead wrapped his lips around the top and sucked, moving his head down, just a bit, and then back up again until only the tip was in his mouth.  

Johns body arched up at the feeling and his breathing got deeper and slower as he tried to stop himself from coming right there and then. 

Again, Sherlocks mouth took in Johns cock, more than last time, but still not as much as he could take, before almost pulling completely off.  On his third descent on Johns cock he held in his mouth and gave a few firm sucks, pulling a string of expletives from Johns mouth before he moved all the way down until the head of Johns cock hit the back of his throat and he swallowed around the thick shaft in his mouth.  A broken cry left Johns mouth and he could feel himself getting extremely close.  Sherlocks tongue worked on the sensitive skin on the underside of Johns cock as he pulled back up before sliding back down and then he set into a steady rhythm, using his lips and tongue, licking and sucking and swallowing to coax John closer to orgasm, finally achieving his goal after taking Johns entire length in his mouth as he gave his balls a firm squeeze and that was it.  John cried out Sherlocks name as his back arched, lifting his hips off of the bed and he came, shooting ribbons of come down Sherlocks throat, and Sherlock swallowed it all down, only a small dribble escaping to slide down his chin.

Suddenly he pulled off of Johns cock and sat back on his heels, his hand moving over his own cock, which was an angry red looking colour and very hard.  Quickly John pushed himself up into a sitting position and shuffled forward so he could comfortably replace Sherlocks hand with his own and he took off from where the Detective had been tugging and rubbing and pulling, squeezing his fingers on every down stroke, and rolling his palm over the head on every third or fourth stroke, his spare hand holding Sherlocks hips, pulling him closer to John.

“Too long” Sherlock gasped as he thrust into Johns hand.  

“Tell me about it” John groaned as he dropped his head to Sherlocks shoulder and started to move his hand faster over Sherlocks prick.  He was close, John could tell.  His breaths were short and sharp, John could feel the tiny shivers working through the other mans muscles as his body prepared for the overload of pleasure inducing hormones that were about to start coursing through his body and his deep moans had turned into higher pitched whimpers the faster and harder Johns hand moved.  It was after only a handful more thrusts that Sherlocks whole body stiffened and with a deep, throaty moan he spilled into Johns hand, his body shivering as he released, his hips thrusting, just a bit, with each lesser release, until he was completely spent where he then proceeded to slump against John hard enough that the two of them toppled back onto the mattress.

“I just need a moment” Sherlock panted, still trying to get his breath back.  John readjusted their bodies so he was laying on his back and Sherlock was comfortably resting his head on Johns chest.

“Take all the time you need” John replied lazily, seriously contemplating on going back to sleep again.   “I have no plans for today whatsoever.”

“I’m glad to hear it John, since I am guessing we will need quite a bit of time.”

John frowned.  He had planned on relaxing today, not running after Sherlock doing whatever it was Sherlock had planned.  “What on Earth for?” he mumbled, somewhat grumpily.

At that Sherlocks hand moved down Johns body and gently cupped his now flaccid penis.  “John, we just went an entire week without sex.  Thats a lot of lost time to make up for.” 

Suddenly, John didn’t feel so sleepy anymore.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading the second story in my 50 Reasons series, I hope you enjoyed, and remember to leave a suggestion in the comments box for story number 3!!


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